


In My Toes

by reedenryete



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedenryete/pseuds/reedenryete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates being cold. Luckily for him, he’s dating a living furnace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Toes

**Author:** reedenryete

 **Title:** “In My Toes”

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Pairing:**  Derek/Stiles

 **Summary:** Stiles hates being cold. Luckily for him, he’s dating a living furnace.

 **Word Count:** 1,300+

 **Warnings:**  Domestic fluff everywhere. I am not ashamed. Also a lot of parentheses abuse, because I believe Stiles’s brain functions in parentheses.

 

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There was nothing Stiles hated more than being cold.

 

He was a wimp. You know those Tumblr memes that mocked Floridians or Californians for busting out parkas once the temperature hits below 70 degrees? He was one of those people being laughed at.

 

He hated how the weather bit his nose and made it dripping wet with sniffles. Then he hated the itchy and peeling feeling of his skin when he would have to rub his snot dry with cheap, sandpaper tissues. He hated how the weather made him indecisively pull his gloves on and off over and over again so he could use his smart phone, torn between warmth and the Internet. (Which, duh, the Internet won. He seriously needed to invest in those special touch-screen gloves.)

 

He hated how it made him even more sluggish when he woke up -- it was hard enough to drag himself out of bed as it was, especially on the days a certain, devastatingly handsome sourwolf was still in it. (Which again, duh, the idea of a romp in the sheets with Derek won over pesky things like work, obligation and responsibility.)

  
  
So, yeah. Stiles hated the cold. Take a look at his wardrobe. It was filled with hoodies and jackets, at least until his teaching career forced him to buy slacks and button downs.

 

Speaking of which, it was his teaching career that made him leave the coziness of his covers to begin with. Fortunately for him, it was a countywide half school day, which meant he and his adorable bundle of chaotic fourth graders could get home before 2 P.M.

 

Even more fortunately for him, Derek’s car was already in the driveway before he pulled in, which meant, yay, his furnace of a boyfriend ( _Fiancé_ , his mind corrected when light against the ring on his finger glinted sharply in his eyes as he turned the steering wheel. Figures every part of Derek would abuse him in some way…) was home and ready to cuddle!

 

Stiles puffed hot breaths into his hands as he reached the front door. He tried to stop them from shaking, making several jerky efforts to get his house key through the hole. He unlocked it with success after a few aborted attempts.

 

The door opened to the loft’s dark silence. Stiles frowned as he toed off his shoes. He knew Derek had to have heard his engine outside. Anyone, even without super werewolf ears, would have. So where was his welcome home? Derek would usually do his version of a dog waiting for its master by the door with an excited, wagging tail. (Which meant a mild scowl and scruffy kiss, but _still_.)

 

“Derek, where are you, dude?” Stiles called out as he stripped off his coat and hung it on a rack.

 

“We’ve been together for years and we’re getting married in the next. I think I surpassed the level of ‘dude,’” Derek’s voice traveled gruffly from down the hall. It was muffled, as if it was said into a pillow.

 

Stiles grinned. Snuggle time.

 

“We’re already wolf-married as mates! This is just another title, _dude_ ,” he yelled back playfully as he ambled into the bedroom (their bedroom, he reminded himself with a pleasant swelling in his chest) and there he was.

 

The love of his life looking toasty nestled lazily in blankets, messy clothes and Stile’s sleep-induced drool stains on their cushions.

 

Stiles approached the edge of their bed. Wordlessly, he gave a simple whine and grabby-hand gestures. Derek scoffed, his muscled arm poking out of the covers and grabbing onto Stile’s wrist. Before Derek could even pull him into his arms, Stiles gave a loud, cheerful whoop and vaulted onto the mattress. Derek gave a listless grunt under the sudden weight.

  
They twisted in the sheets, Derek scooting across to roll Stiles over to his side of the bed furthest away from the door and Stiles wriggling his way beneath the covers. The corners of Derek's mouth twitched downward as Stile’s tall, lanky limbs almost hit him in the face and the bearded man yelped at the feeling of Stile’s freezing feet tangling with his.

 

“Stop moving so much,” he said grouchily, but the gentle twine of his arms around Stiles’ waist and torso said otherwise.

 

“Hey, babycakes, why are you home so early?” Stiles ignored him in favor of running his fingers through Derek’s hair with one hand and a thumb sweeping back and forth tenderly across a cheekbone with the other.

 

“Your dad sent me home. Said I looked tired,” Derek mumbled against his lips before bringing them together for a chaste kiss. He released a contented sniff at Stile’s ministrations.

  
Stiles hummed in response, eyeing the werewolf carefully. Derek must have been tired if he didn’t even respond to that sugar sweet pet name. Normally at this time, Derek would still be working at the office with Sheriff Stilinski. His Dad loved to let Derek handle some of the most inane cases, which sometimes involved saving the pets of old ladies who ended up cooing over an uncomfortable Hale. Stiles believed it was residual punishment for Derek deflowering his formerly underaged (not for long, okay!) son way back in the beginning stages of their relationship. When Stiles called his father out on it one day with a glare, John merely cackled and smiled innocently.

  
  
But it seems like the sheriff pulled a leaf out of Stile’s book. As a Stilinski man through and through, he cared about Derek. He did mention to his son that Derek overworked himself lately. It was a good idea for him to shoo the werewolf away, seeing as this whole week Derek would come home late into the night, to the point where Stiles was almost done grading his students’ assignments -- and getting through their poor grammar always took forever.

 

“Want me to tire you out even more, _Deputy Hale_?” Stiles asked teasingly, his curious hand making its way down Derek’s chest and to the waistband of his sweats.

 

Derek curled his fingers around Stiles’ before it could even pass his bellybutton.

 

“Later,” he said simply.

 

Stiles gave a startled, miffed huff. He withdrew, suddenly insecure, and if he was honest, mildly offended. Usually the “Deputy Hale” thing did the trick to get heated and steamy lovin’ going. They haven’t had fun in a while, both busy with work, but now that they were home early for once and Derek wasn’t interested…? What if --

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Derek sighed and answered Stiles’ unsaid questions with his eyes still half-closed. “Yes, I do still find you attractive. No, I’m not getting bored of you. No, I don’t think you’ve gotten pudgy over the years. Let me sleep a little, and I promise to pound into you nice and good until your throat is hoarse from screaming. I’d prefer not to knock out from exhaustion mid-thrust.”

  
Stiles barked out in surprised laughter, unable to hide the delighted and thrilled shiver that zipped down his spine.

 

“That’s probably the most I’ve heard you talk! How did you even know what was going on in my head, anyway?”

 

“Your eyes got all big, sad and pouty, as if to say ‘Derek, love me.’”

 

“Um, excuse me? As if! When would I _ever_  say that?”

 

“Shh, sleep.”

  
“Mmm, oh, baby. A crusty, worn-out, sore, old man. Just how I like ‘em.”

 

Stiles squawked when Derek pinched his side.

 

“We’ll see who’s sore later,” Derek growled fondly, kissing Stiles between his brows at the start of the curve of his nose, before peppering his cheeks, forehead and cupid’s bow.

 

“All right, all right, stop before I really won’t let you go to sleep,” Stiles glowered playfully, wiggling his toes and tickling Derek’s calves. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he loved when Derek trusted him enough to be unalert and snoozy in his presence.

 

“Rest now,” the older man murmured against his temple.

 

“Got it, but you owe me,” Stiles muttered back, suddenly drowsy, even as pleasure curled in the pit of his stomach in anticipation. He nuzzled his face into Derek’s neck and embraced him, the cold weather already long forgotten.

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**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thank you for taking a moment to read my first Sterek piece. I was drawn to Sterek the same way I was drawn to Destiel -- never watched a single episode of Teen Wolf or Supernatural, yet somehow through Tumblr and Fanfiction, I’ve become suckered into the frighteningly inescapable blackhole of feels that is fandom. Now that it’s November, it’s starting to cool down and I got a bit sappy. Couldn’t get this image out of my head until I wrote it out. Haha! Take care!


End file.
